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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25686943">The Piper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield'>lilidelafield</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:35:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25686943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An entry in the Short Affair On Section VII. Prompt words were GRIEF, BROTHER &amp; GREEN.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Piper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As a pale, wintry sun struggled to shine through the miniscule gaps in a leaden sky, a lone piper stood atop a low mound, a small hill topped with a single silver birch tree, cold and bare. The piper stood beneath the tree, playing his doleful tune as his listeners gathered around the grave at the foot of the slope.</p>
<p>An attractive, red haired young woman glanced uneasily at her companion, uncertain whether he would welcome an arm around his shoulders or not.</p>
<p>Mark Slate stared at the shape of the coffin beneath its <strong>green</strong> velvet drape, listening to the piper. His <strong>brother</strong> had always had a thing against funerals, and had always insisted that when his turn came, his family and friends should be celebrating his life, not mourning his death. Hence the remarkable eclectic mixture of colours worn by those present.</p>
<p>Mark could not help but shiver slightly at the haunting melody coming from the bagpipes. He could not claim to be a particular fan of the pipes himself, he had to admit, but Tom had always loved them. Tom had had a passion for all things Scottish; and had married a Scottish girl. Emma Slate’s funeral had been held three days earlier; a victim of the same accident that had killed Tom, and deprived Mark Slate of the only family he had left in the world.</p>
<p>All he had left now, were his friends at UNCLE, and in particular April Dancer beside him…and the piper on the hill, whom had just now finished his lonely dirge and fallen silent, his head bowed as the coffin was finally lowered into the hole.</p>
<p>Mark stood still and silent beside the grave, long after everyone else had murmured their condolences and left, breathing deeply, trying not to weep. Fighting desperately against the <strong>grief</strong> lodged in his heart and filling his throat with a lump that he was unable to swallow.</p>
<p>He forced himself to look up when an almost timid hand crept around his shoulders, and found April was standing close, He could smell her hair, and her perfume. Her eyes were sad, her expression was compassionate.</p>
<p>            “Mark…?”</p>
<p>He nodded, then suddenly turned to face her and accepted the hug she offered, burying his face in her neck as he continued to fight himself. When he emerged a minute or so later, his eyes were damp, but he smiled at her.</p>
<p>            “Thank you for coming, partner.” He said softly. “I know these things are awful, but I tried to do what he asked for…”</p>
<p>April smiled.</p>
<p>            “It was a beautiful funeral, Mark, and so was Emma’s.”</p>
<p>She glanced up to see the sun had given up its futile struggle for dominance and the sky had blackened. Huge drops of rain started to fall. She looked back at her partner to find he had his face angled up, to catch the rain on his face.</p>
<p>            “You like getting wet?”</p>
<p>He shrugged.</p>
<p>            “Meh, I’m English. I’m used to it. But I don’t want our piper to see me with tears on my face.”</p>
<p>            “The piper? What does it matter? He must see men weep every day.”</p>
<p>Mark shook his head. As he watched, the piper walked slowly down the hill towards them, and removed his cap. April gasped in shock.</p>
<p>            “Illya? Why didn’t I know you could play the bagpipes?”</p>
<p>Illya hefted the pipes into a more comfortable position on his shoulder. He shrugged lopsidedly.</p>
<p>            “You never asked me.” He replied. He rested a hand on Mark’s shoulder.</p>
<p>            “Are you alright, my friend?”</p>
<p>Mark clasped Illya’s hand and wrung it gratefully, then offered his elbow to April, who took it willingly.</p>
<p>            “I will be.” He replied. “I will be.”</p>
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